


Closer

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [55]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Child Abuse, Established Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Series, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would it be like to never feel close to anyone? This is what Justin has been wondering ever since he received a very telling letter from a fan in need. As he prepares to send out yet another 'message in a bottle' to this fan and others like him, Justin turns to his nearest and dearest to explore what closeness truly means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aaron

**Author's Note:**

> The letter that Justin receives was first referenced in Seasons (Chapter 2) and I was keen to follow up on that idea, since it was quite meaningful to Justin to receive such a letter. Fair warning - as per the tags, the subject matter will be quite dark at times. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts. Feedback is always deeply appreciated :)

_**I've never felt close to anyone.**_

That's the part of the letter that Justin can't get over. Within the five or so pages that contain this kid's life story and a whole host of devastating confessions, it is this sentence that leaps off the paper and embeds itself in Justin's consciousness.

Over and over again he wonders: _What would it be like to never feel close to anyone?_

He honestly can't imagine it. For all the times that Justin has felt lonely, stranded, unwanted, and wounded... he has never lost the sense of what it means to be close to someone.

The boy who wrote him this letter has never known it once. At least, he had never known it, not when he wrote Justin this letter two years ago. Has he come to know it since? Has some semblance of companionship or intimacy made its way into his life?

There are days when Justin agonises over it. He keeps the letter in his studio, tucked away safely in the storeroom. He rarely reads it. When he first received it, he read it a dozen times or more in the space of a week. Since then, not so much. There's no need to reread it when Justin remembers its contents almost by heart.

The boy - Aaron, from Montana - poured everything out onto those five and a half pages. How he's always identified as queer, even before he had words for it. How his parents are narcissistic pseudo-Christian psychopaths who expect nothing less than 'perfection' from him. How he has very few friends, how he gets shoved into lockers at school, how his own brother mocks him, and how for all of his years on earth, he's rarely felt safe or accepted. He's never even felt loved.

There's nothing in the letter that Justin can use to help the poor kid. No last name, only 'Aaron', which may be fake anyway. No return address. No identifying details whatsoever. Justin knows this kid in ways nobody else does, but he can't figure out how to find him. He can't even picture him, really. Aaron's face is a disturbing blank.

Justin tries. He mentions the letter in vague terms in interviews, hoping that Aaron might come across the magazine or blog featuring the piece. He dedicates an entire show to exploring what it means to be closeted and dedicates one of the paintings to Aaron. He doesn't put that painting up for sale; instead, he donates it to the Montana State Library. He tries and tries, but still comes up empty every time. Aaron doesn't write him again. Aaron remains a faceless, unidentifiable mystery. A lost boy, if ever there was one. Justin feels as though he's sending out messages in bottles to absolutely no avail.

Sometimes he wonders if Aaron is still alive. Maybe he's truly lost and long gone. Every time Justin hears about another queer kid committing suicide, he wonders if Aaron befell a similar fate. When this manifests in a gruesome nightmare _(rope swinging; bathtubs flooded crimson; feet sprinting across earth then leaping into nothingness)_ , Justin calls his former therapist and talks it out over the phone. He hasn't seen Jo in years, but he knows well enough to know when he needs her. Jo spends two hours on the phone with him, hearing him out, then offering comforting wisdoms.  _You're doing all you can,_ she says, her tone warm and encouraging.  _It's up to you, but you might find it cathartic to keep going. Don't you have another show coming up?_  


He does. Justin's next show is scheduled for next summer at a gallery in Brooklyn. He had planned to focus on something else, but now all he can think about is launching another bottle with more messages contained within. He likes the idea of that better, so much so that he spends days at his studio planning everything out. On the fourth day, he invites the curator to come and see what he's been working on. She loves it. She, like Jo, propels him forward with fervent encouragement. It nearly doubles Justin's drive to pursue this theme.

He pulls the letter out once more, turns to the second page, and instantly hones in on that line:  _I've never felt close to anyone._ It remains damn near unimaginable. As the words revolve in his mind, Justin folds the letter up and stows it away carefully. So, Aaron can't imagine being close to someone, while Justin can't imagine existing without it. This new collection should bridge the gap between those two points. It's sure to be challenging, but it's as good a starting point as any.

That night, he meets Brian for dinner uptown. Brian is a little late, so Justin holes up in their private booth with his sketchpad and toys around with ideas. When Brian arrives, he's keen to hear what it is that Justin is working on. Justin shows him some of the sketches and explains, "It's a tribute to Aaron and other kids like him. There's a lot I could have focused on, but I want it to be about closeness. I... I can't understand how someone can go so long without knowing it."

The instant he's said it, he knows he's said the wrong thing. His stomach twists with an instinctive sense of guilt. Justin looks at Brian and catches something fleeting flicking over his face. It forces Justin to forget about Aaron's confession, for he's suddenly reminded of all the things about Brian that remain unknown. Justin has tried to get Brian to open up on occasion, but Brian is like Fort fucking Knox. 

Still, Justin's optimism and determination are a potent duo. He sidles a little closer to Brian, places his hand on Brian's forearm, and asks gently, "Do you know what that's like?"

Brian stares at him for a few seconds. His expression is entirely blank. Then he averts his gaze, signals for the waiter, and orders a round of drinks. Justin listens to the drink order - _two whisky sours; keep them coming_ \- and decides to take the hint. He leans in and kisses Brian tenderly, hoping that the evening won't be ruined by his apparently intrusive questioning. To Justin's relief, Brian winds an arm around him and returns the kiss heatedly. All is well, it would seem.

All is silent, but all is well. Justin decides to suck up his hurt feelings and simply let it be. It's Brian's story to tell, in the end. What good would it do to force it?

Later, as they're enjoying dessert, Justin thinks of another question. A better question, perhaps. He looks at Brian, smiles, and wipes a smudge of chocolate mousse from Brian's lower lip. After licking it from his finger, Justin nuzzles Brian's neck and queries softly, "When was the first time you felt close to someone?"

This time, Brian doesn't raise any defenses. He feeds Justin another spoonful of the mousse, kisses him, then mulls the question over in silence. Finally, he says, "When I met Mikey. Maybe the first time he had me over to his place."

Justin takes Brian's hand in his and squeezes it. Staring into space, Brian muses, "Being around him and Deb... it was like culture shock."

That's all Brian says - only those words, and nothing more. Yet, Justin feels as though a door has been opened. He feels as though he can walk up and peer through into what Brian's childhood might have been like. It's not all that revealing, but this is the most insight he's gained in years.

Justin laces his fingers through Brian's and draws their joined hands to his mouth. He kisses the back of Brian's hand, then peppers smaller kisses over Brian's knuckles, all whilst stroking his thumb over Brian's.

"Let's go home," Brian murmurs, the words imbued with promise. Justin nods. Brian squeezes their hands tighter together, then signals for the cheque. Meanwhile, Justin returns to his sketchpad and stares at the images. They all whisper of companionship and intimacy. He's glad of that, because it means he's on the right track, but it's not enough. He wants to transform these sketches into pieces that live, breathe, bleed, and sing of closeness.

And now, he knows just where to begin.


	2. Daphne

_I've never felt close to anyone. **I have 'friends', but they don't mean anything to me and I don't mean anything to them.**  _

The following morning, Justin returns to his studio and starts dissecting Aaron's confessions. Not literally, of course - he feels viscerally possessive and protective of the letter and can't imagine letting it come to harm. Jo would probably suggest that this is classic transference: Justin can't protect Aaron, so he protects the letter instead. And protect it he does: he handles it with fragility, as though it were a rare and delicate artefact.

In a way, it is. The studio's storeroom is full of letters from fans but none are quite like Aaron's. Nobody else has ever laid themselves bare the way he did. The boy's honesty is quite awe-inspiring, spanning pages and pages of condensed script. Justin could spend years working through the revelations. But there's a glistening needle in that haystack, and it's Aaron's lament that he's never felt close to anyone. The subsequent confession about his 'friends' is equally disturbing to Justin. He copies Aaron's words onto a long scroll of paper that ends up draped over the length of his workbench.

_I have 'friends'..._

_... they don't mean anything to me..._

_... I don't mean anything to them._

Justin stares at these confessions three. It's like diving into unfamiliar waters and ending up chin-deep. He feels himself struggling to wade through them. They feel as though they have the capacity to drag someone under so far that they might never resurface.

He wonders if that's what it feels like for Aaron.

The first statement isn't quite so unfamiliar as the others. Justin has had friends and he's certainly had  _'friends'._ In the former category, he is proud to be able to include such amazing people as Daph, Brian, Linds, Mel, Michael, Ben, Ted, Blake, Emmett, Drew, Jade, and Corey. The latter category is less well-populated. It once included other kids that he and Daph went to school with, people from PIFA that he could never quite get along with, and Ethan's circle of insufferably pretentious snobs. Justin is also tempted to include a lot of people he's met here in New York's art scene. There are a shitload of people here who he feigns friendship with for the sake of his career. Justin knows full well that they're faking right back; it's a delicate, disgusting little ecosystem where deception is rife. Although Justin plays the same game for the sake of his work, he hopes that he never warps into what most of these people have become. They're not just phony and pretentious, they're utterly parasitic. Justin feels sick at the idea of being anything like them.

Fortunately, though, he has his real friends to keep him grounded. Linds is always there to listen and give advice when the art world is getting him down. Mel, Michael, and Ben are all amazing co-parents as well as good friends. Justin has grown to adore Ted and Blake; he simply couldn't do without Emmett and always gets on with Drew; and though he doesn't see them often, he always looks forward to bar-hopping with Jade and Corey every once in a while.

Best of all are Brian and Daph, who are the best friends that Justin could ask for. Brian is  _everything_ to him: friend, lover, partner, family, and now _husband_ , all rolled into one incredible person. Daph is similarly incredible. She has long since transcended the typical role of best friend and has become a part of Justin. Justin is sorrowed that Aaron has never known someone like her. While Aaron's 'friends' mean nothing to him, Daph is immeasurably important to Justin. While Aaron means nothing to his 'friends', Justin knows that Daph thinks of him as her friend, family, and soul mate. It's been that way for well over two decades now. He can't imagine it being any other way. He wouldn't want to. 

It hurts to think that Aaron is on the other side of that. Justin stares at the letter and then at the scroll of paper with Aaron's confessions transcribed in booming script. Then he pulls out his sketchpad and turns to the page of drafts that focus on Daph. He used to have to sit with a subject or look at photos whilst portraiting. He still does if it's someone unfamiliar. But when it comes to his nearest and dearest, Justin can render an impression of them with his eyes closed. Maybe even with his hands tied behind his back. Maybe he should test that theory out the next time Brian ties him up. Laughing at the thought, Justin flicks to the next blank page of his sketchpad and starts on a new piece.

This piece needs to do two things: it must live, breathe, bleed, and sing of closeness, and it should cut to the core of what Daph's friendship means to him. For a while, Justin is overwhelmed by the countless possibilities. They've been friends for so long that narrowing it down to one piece seems impossible. Justin flicks back to the page filled with scattered drafts and eyes them thoughtfully. Then it hits him: their hands. Whenever Justin thinks of Daph, he thinks of her hands. He's held them in his for so long that they almost seem to belong to him. 

As Justin starts to sketch, beginning with Daph's delicate fingers, he thinks back to when they were only little. He used to hold her hand in the line at school every day. While there were other kids who sometimes had to be reminded to hold hands with their buddy, it was effortless for Justin and Daph. They never had to be told. In fact, there were some schooldays when it seemed they never let go of each other.

He remembers liking it best when they would sit side-by-side on the swings and hold hands. They'd hold on gently at the beginning, when their feet were tracking through the sand and kicking to work up momentum, and then so much tighter as the swings began their rapid ascent and descent. By the time they were flying through the air on two sweeping pendulums, their grip would be almost painfully tight. Justin never minded. They were both a little scared of heights back then and so they enjoyed being tethered to one another. 

"If you fall, I'll fall with you," Daph once resolved chirpily. "And if I fall, you'll fall!"

Justin gaped at her and all but yelled, "Don't you dare, Daphne Chanders! We're not falling!"

Of course, he did end up falling. Not off the swings, but in other ways. When he and his father came to blows. When his senior year of high school turned into hell on earth. When he woke up in the hospital, weak, petrified, and utterly lost. Daph held his hand through it all. It wasn't like she'd prophesied, though. She never fell with him - instead, she held on tight and pulled him back up. It didn't always happen right away, of course. Daph was always okay with that.

Like when it all fell apart with Ethan - she didn't try to drag him free from his depression all at once, she waited it out. Now that Justin is out of those ghastly woods, he sees Ethan for what he was. A mistake. A nasty bump in the road. Inconsequential in the scheme of things. But right after it all fell apart, Justin felt eviscerated by Ethan's betrayal. Then, as time wore slowly on, he started to see things that he'd previously ignored. What he'd professed to be 'true love' was, in truth, tenuous and shallow. Owning up to this weighed Justin down. The heartbreak was sickening. The guilt was even worse: he'd thrown away his relationship with Brian for  _this?!_ It rendered him miserable and immobile. Luckily, Daph was there. She gave him time to grieve. She held him close and let him cry it all out. Then, when the time for that was over, she tightened her grasp on him and pulled him out of that nightmarish spell and back into the light.

Even now that they're living in different cities, Justin can still sense Daph's hand grasping his. She's always there for him. He knows that he can reach for her at any moment and she'll be there, whether it be via texts or emails, phone calls that last hours upon hours, or impromptu visits. He does the same for her. Like when her mother died - that hit her hard. Brian seemed to see her through the worst of it, for which Justin is eternally grateful. But their week alone together - while certainly healing - couldn't fix everything. When they all returned to New York and Brian returned to work, Justin was confronted with a grief-stricken version of Daph. She was almost like a chameleon; her mourning assumed many different forms. There were days when she needed to be distracted, and so they would venture out of the apartment and all over the city. There were days when she simply holed up in the apartment with a book; she devoured dozens of them during her stay. And then there were days when everything stopped. Justin found her one morning in bed, curled up on her side, looking pale and drawn. With her gaze averted, Daph confessed, "I think today is a not-getting-out-of-bed-day."

Justin didn't say anything. Though they're often a pair of very chattery chatterbirds, they've grown very comfortable with each other's silent company. He simply went and slipped into bed with Daph, curled up around her, and held her: his arms wound around her, their hands laced together. And so they stayed until she was ready to face the world again.

He spends the rest of the day sketching. The piece evolves from rough to polished and begins to take on a life of its own. As ideas pop up, Justin takes notes. He can see what it will look like once it has been translated onto canvas - all the colours and brushstrokes are vivid in his mind. It's their hands, linked together tightly, enriched with intense levels of detail. When he starts to paint tomorrow, he'll attend to it in even greater depth and drive some life into it.

As Justin finishes up the draft, he takes to it with coloured pencils and begins mapping out the colour scheme. Perhaps his favourite part of the sketch is how strong their grasp seems; their fingers are reddened and their knuckles whitened by the force of the embrace. It's the kind of link that will hold fast: whether they're swinging through the sky like a sweeping pendulum, or whether one of them is falling, or whether they're living close together or far apart.

It's not all that far from perfect. However, it isn't quite enough. Justin has a vision for what each section of the gallery will look like come summer and how the different pieces will hopefully form a meaningful, detailed continuum. When he looks at this piece, he remembers that day they spend cuddled up in bed together, holding each other so close that they were very nearly one. That day was important, but it's a fragment of their years together.

So Justin rewinds. He plans three more pieces that will join this one. Their hands linked on the swingset, with sections of sky and hints of sun spilling through their fingers. Another of her hand held gently in his as they danced together at prom. Justin can't remember it, but he can recall the photo perfectly - it's one of his favourites from that evasive evening. Then, the aftermath: Daph clutching his hand in hers, whilst his blood trickles down her wrist. This isn't drawn from memory or copied from any photo; he has sourced it from something his mother told him - _She stayed with you and held your hand. She brought you flowers and read to you. She was always there._

Sometimes Justin thinks that his survival can be attributed to Daph - at least, in part. Her support after the attack was monumentally helpful. It was healing. It dragged him out of the depths on more than one occasion. But it's not just that - Daph's presence in his life has always been significant. In staying by his side year after year, she saved him time and time again.

As Justin flicks through his sketchpad and surveys the drafts, his thoughts return to Aaron. Justin's gut tells him that the kid is either still in need of saving or that he's long since vanished from this world. Justin may have a strong grasp where Daph is concerned, but he can sense Aaron's fingers slipping through his. Stricken, Justin slams the sketchpad shut and stashes it by his easel. He takes Aaron's letter and reads through it from start to finish all over again, in the hopes that the dread that he's feeling will ease up. It refuses to. Aaron's story may be set out right in front of Justin's eyes, but Aaron himself? Aaron, who has never known closeness? Aaron, who never had anybody like Daph to stand by him?

Where is he?

What happened to him?


	3. Molly

_I've never felt close to anyone. I have 'friends', but they don't mean anything to me and I don't mean anything to them. **My family doesn't feel like a family. It's obvious they don't like me. It's even more obvious they don't love me.**_

When Justin read Aaron's letter for the first time, it was at this point that it really started to hit close to home. Two years later, those three lines still get to him. There's a lot that Aaron has lived through that Justin can't relate to, but this? This was his life for eighteen years.

If Craig Taylor ever liked or loved Justin in the slightest, it was never evident. There was always a sense of distance between them. Justin can recall some moments of closeness from when he was very little, but they were incredibly scarce. Even when his father did make attempts at affection, it was never like it was with his mother. Justin adored his mother endlessly. She radiated kindness and was a constant source of unconditional, uninhibited affection. She was the one who would cover Justin with kisses and cuddles. She was the one who would sing his praises and say heartfelt  _I love yous._ She was the one who made Justin feel safe and sound.

Craig's embraces were stiff and fleeting. Craig never thought anything was quite good enough  _(you can always do better, good isn't good enough)_ and his  _I love yous_ were forced and unfeeling. Craig was the one who made Justin feel small and insignificant.

Justin spent much of his childhood wondering why only one of his parents loved him. He was glad to have Daph by his side for this, as she was similarly perplexed by her parents' aloofness. They never said it out loud, but Justin knows they wished more than once that every parent could be like his mother. Even when his teenage years forced some distance between him and his mom, Justin was still grateful to have one parent in his corner. 

He was almost glad when everything fell apart with Craig. Through all the anger and anguish, Justin remembers thinking with a peculiar sense of relief:  _So I was right all along. You never really loved me._

It's taken a while to get to this point, but Justin doesn't really think about Craig anymore. He hasn't seen the bastard in almost five years, he's dedicated a huge chunk of his time in therapy to talking all of it out, and he now belongs to a family made up solely of people who love him. There's little reason to think about Craig. It's exactly like Justin promised him the last time they saw each other: he's nothing.

Except where Molly is concerned.

Justin never really wanted a kid sister and wasn't at all pleased with the one he was lumped with. For the first year of her life, all Molly seemed to do was scream, make messes, and monopolise their mother's attention. She was grabby and squally and needy. Justin's major frustration was that nobody else saw this - his mother adored Molly, his father was similarly enamored, and even Daph thought the little bundle of annoyance was precious. It was pure torture.

And then things started to change. The changes were small at first - Molly stopped crying so much, she learned not to grab his hair in her tiny little fists, and she ceased demanding so much of their mother's time and energy. As the Taylor household grew more peaceful, Justin stopped detesting his little sister. Then, one day, he learned how to make Molly laugh. He would pull faces at her and she would cackle uproariously. At that point, Justin started to like his little sister.

It was when Molly hugged him for the first time that Justin started to love her. He was tasked with helping her out of her playpen, and for once, Molly didn't put up a fight. Instead of screaming and wailing, she smiled up at him and reached her arms up. When Justin scooped her up, Molly wound her arms around his neck and squeezed tight. Justin absolutely melted. It was a sort of magic, holding his little sister and having her little arms wrapped around him in a sort of embrace.

"You're not so bad," he whispered to her en route to the kitchen, where dinner was waiting. Molly squirmed and giggled a little bit, which Justin took to mean, _I love you, too._

That was always the best thing about Molly - how loving she grew to be. Sure, she was as bratty and irritating as all hell. She was still oh-so-talented at monopolising their mother's attention. And there were several valiant attempts at stealing Daph away, which were typically thwarted by Justin going into meltdown mode. But nonetheless, Molly was loving, and she only grew more and more so with every passing year. Most of Molly's kindnesses have blurred together over the years, but there are some that Justin holds very dear. Like the time she caught him sneaking out his window to meet Daph, who had promised to drive him to Brian's. Molly walked in as he was halfway out the window, and after approximately ten horribly tense seconds of suspenseful silence, she nodded at him and whispered, _I've got your back._ Or like when she came to visit him in hospital and didn't ask questions or say anything much at all - she just curled up in bed with him, turned the TV to something good, and then lay there stroking his hair gently until visiting hours were over. Or like her first trip to New York for her sixteenth birthday, during which Justin took her to see _The Lion King_. As they were leaving the Minskoff, Molly leapt into his arms and whispered, _You're the best, Justy._ It was so sweet that Justin decided to temporarily grant Molly leniency and pardon her for daring to call him 'Justy' - a name which ought to have died out years earlier.

Though there's a lot of amazing things to be said about his little sister, her big heart is the first thing Justin thinks of. Molly has always thrown herself full-force into being loving, especially where Justin's family is concerned. She is unreservedly adoring of Gus and Brian, who both adore her right back. For that, Justin is incredibly grateful. However, they're not the only ones who benefit from Molly's big heart.

Craig does, too.

Justin tries not to think about it. It simply hurts too much. His rational side tries to offer reassurance: that it's Molly's way to be loving and kind, that Craig never hurt her or hated her, and that each of them have every right to want a father/daughter relationship. That, however, pales in comparison to Justin's emotional side, which feels wounded and betrayed and _furious_ that Molly would do this. She may not have known the full story when she was little, but she's sure as shit heard it since. Justin doesn't understand how it can't matter to her. On the scarce occasions that he does think of his father, his mind immediately rushes to recall Craig's many cruelties: calling him disgusting, threatening him, slapping him, abandoning him. Even worse, he remembers Craig hurting Brian, which makes Justin burn with white-hot rage. When he thinks of Craig Taylor, he thinks of a cowardly, pathetic, hateful, sorry excuse for a man. It makes Justin sick.

So what does Molly see in him? What the fuck does Craig mean to her? How the hell does she reconcile her love for Justin, their mother, and Brian, with her love for Craig? Surely she must see how irreparably contradictory that is... mustn't she?

Apparently not. Craig is still a part of Molly's life. They have brunch together every second Sunday. If one of them is out of town, Craig calls her to make up for the missed date. Justin discovered this three years ago when Molly was visiting. When her phone started ringing, Justin glanced at it and was confronted by a picture of their father and the words 'Dad calling'. He wanted to throw her phone out the window. He probably would have, only Brian stopped him. Then they watched and listened as Molly came running in to pick up her phone. She at least had the decency to lower her voice as she greeted Craig and to then leave the room to take the call. Dumbfounded, Justin looked to Brian, but Brian only shook his head and muttered, "Don't ask me to explain it. Couldn't if I tried."

Maybe it's that Craig actually loved Molly. He still stumbled over his _I love yous_ and was awkward in his attempts at affection, but it was better than the half-assed bullshit that Justin had to put up with. If he had to guess, Justin would attribute this to Molly being everything Craig wanted in a child. Molly never cared much for artistic pursuits - instead, she was avidly athletic, which made Craig glow with pride. All throughout high school, she lived and breathed for the swim squad. In her senior year, she won a whole slew of trophies for the basketball team. Through her years at college (a Craig Taylor approved college, no less), she divided her time between athletics and academia. Molly was a star. Even when she decided to pursue teaching (a pursuit which Craig Taylor didn't endorse), she remained the golden daughter.

Of course, Molly being straight as a pin probably helped. It probably helped a whole lot. In Molly, Craig Taylor has found the perfect child he always wanted. She's accomplished, she's happy to play the part of loving daughter, and she has a palatable lifestyle that won't embarrass anybody.

Justin has that all figured out. Craig loving Molly isn't a surprise. But Molly loving Craig? What the fuck is that about?

When he talks to his mom, or Daph, or Brian, they all pretty much say the same thing: that it's up to Molly and that he ought to let it be. That it may be messed up, but it's how things are. Justin knows that they're right. It's not like he can do much of anything about the situation. So he lets it be as best he can and tries not to think about it.

Besides, all in all, Molly isn't bad. Not even close - she's a wonderful little sister and Justin is glad to have her in his life. And much like Molly has grown ever more loving over the years, they've grown ever closer as time has gone on. It is slightly marred by her bond with Craig, but that's just how things are. Right?

 _Wrong_ , is what Justin thinks bitterly to himself, but he brushes the thought away.

As Justin wraps up another long night in his studio, he looks back at his creations from over the last fortnight. They've all focused on familial closeness in an attempt to show Aaron what it's like to be surrounded by people who like you and love you. There's a canvas smudged with medleys of colours, with different sections representing different members of the family. There's one that Justin has copied from an old photo of his mother rocking him to sleep when he was a newborn; he has placed the two of them far back in the canvas at a great distance, making them appear as if they're in a world of their own, with the rest of the space illuminated in sunshine yellow. There's Gus, from birth to age eleven, in a blurred continuum that bleeds together. The final image of Gus is only partially complete, with half of Gus whisping away, yet to fully form.

And then there's Molly when she was little, shown from above, standing up in her playpen and reaching up with a big smile. It was the first time Justin ever felt truly close to her. Even though he's felt closer to her in years since, it's still that day that he returns to when he thinks of Molly. It was his first glimpse into what it was like to be loved by her. It may be slightly marred now, but it wasn't then. It's this memory that Justin wants to share with Aaron: one which is entirely untarnished and full of promise.


	4. Brian

  _I've never felt close to anyone. I have 'friends', but they don't mean anything to me and I don't mean anything to them. My family doesn't feel like a family. It's obvious they don't like me. It's even more obvious they don't love me. **I don't even think I know what love is.**_

While Justin lies awake contemplating the lack of love in Aaron's life, he is overtly aware of all the love in his. Brian is curled up around him, sleeping peacefully. It's all so familiar: the press of Brian's forehead against the back of his neck, the soft brush of Brian's breath against his skin, and the tight fit of Brian's arms around his middle. Every so often, Brian stirs, mumbles, and hugs Justin closer. It never fails to bring a smile to Justin's face. Even now, with Aaron's loneliness and lovelessness plaguing him, it's infinitely comforting when Brian drags him deeper into his greedy embrace. 

As Brian stirs and fastens his hold on Justin yet again, the clock on the nightstand clicks over to 3am. Justin closes his eyes and wills himself to go to sleep, but it's too far out of reach. He considers rousing Brian - maybe by surprising him with a blow job - but it's stupidly early, and they went to bed stupidly late, and Brian has been working his ass off lately. It would probably be best to let him sleep for a few more hours.

But as luck would have it, Brian wakes up. Right on the dot of 3.05am, he rouses and bolts upright. After a moment's pause, Brian queries in a sleep-thickened voice, "Are you up?"

Justin rolls over and smiles sheepishly at him. "Yeah."

Brian frowns at him, then jumps out of bed and disappears into the bathroom. Justin pulls himself up and stacks some pillows against the headboard. As he's sinking into them, Brian returns and makes a beeline for the liquor cabinet. He picks up a bottle of Scotch, inspects it, and then presents it to Justin enquiringly. 

"You don't have to stay up with me," Justin protests. "You should try to get some more sleep considering the week you've had."

Brian shrugs and goes to turn on the lamp in the corner. Soft, warm light spreads throughout the room. As Justin stretches his legs, he watches Brian cross the room to the east-facing windows. Of course, Brian looks gorgeous under any and all lighting, but this is perhaps the best by far. The warm light from the lamp is illuminating his bare form beautifully; Justin lets his gaze roam all over Brian appreciatively, from his sleep-mussed hair to the muscled lines of his legs. Brian must sense it, for he turns his head and smiles knowingly at Justin. Justin grins back; it continues to grow as Brian opens two of the bedroom windows and a cool breeze flows through.

"Shit, that feels good," Justin moans appreciatively. Brian smiles and tosses him the bottle of Scotch. Upon catching it neatly, Justin uncaps it and takes a sip. It floods smoothly into his mouth and down his throat, leaving behind a pleasing rush. Meanwhile, Brian disappears into the walk-in. As the incoming breeze flows through the room, Justin gazes out into the night. A smattering of lights can be seen across the street and beyond. He watches them for a while, wondering for whom those lights are lit.

"It gets better," Brian calls from inside the walk-in.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll see," is Brian's cryptic, teasing response.

Justin listens curiously as drawers are open and closed. When Brian returns, one hand is held secretively behind his back. He slips back into bed and straddles Justin, kisses him sweetly, then reveals what's held in his hand: a joint and his favourite lighter.

"You're brilliant," Justin says, laughing as Brian places the joint between his lips and leans in. Grinning, Justin takes the lighter and lights him up. "How is it?"

After taking an indulgently long drag, Brian exhales and says with obvious pleasure, "Fucking excellent." 

"Gimme," Justin urges, and Brian passes it to him.

As Justin takes a hit, Brian flops down next to him. He keeps close, lounging with one arm folded behind his head and his legs sprawled over Justin's. "Are you still thinking about that letter?"

"Maybe..?"

Brian raises his eyebrows and queries skeptically, "Maybe, huh?"

"Okay, definitely." Justin hands the joint to Brian and reaches for the Scotch. "I mean, it is the driving inspiration for my next show, so..."

"So that's all? You're thinking about it in a purely professional capacity?"

Grimacing, Justin admits, "No."

He looks at Brian and is met with an expression infused with unreserved tenderness. Brian smiles at him a little and asks, "What are you thinking, Sunshine?"

Justin reaches across the tangled sheets and takes Brian's hand in his. He smooths his thumb over Brian's wedding ring, seeking the comfort promised by the matching bands that they've worn for over three years. It's even more comforting when Brian laces their fingers together and squeezes gently in a silent yet sound offer of reassurance. Bolstered, Justin confesses, "I am seriously thinking that Aaron's parents are... were... incredibly abusive. And I'm utterly convinced that he was or is a suicide risk. And by 'was', I mean... maybe he's gone. Maybe he already did it."

They regard each other silently for a while. As Justin searches Brian's guarded expression, he navigates through the many layered defenses and finds hints of concern and fear. There's something very vulnerable in there as well. Justin begins to wonder if he's struck another nerve - they seem to be like landmines, in a way. He knows enough to be aware of their presence, but who knows when he'll come across one or what will come of it?

He hates that there are parts of Brian that remain hidden from him. He hates feeling as though there is territory here that he's forbidden to map. Most days, what they have seems about as close to perfect as anyone could hope for. Right now, it feels like a dangerously volatile minefield.

But before Justin can venture any further, Brian heads off the attempt by abruptly asking, "Can I see the letter?"

Another hit from the joint and a quick sip of the Scotch diminish the flood of disappointment that courses through Justin. After setting both aside, he twists around and reaches for his wallet. Though Aaron's letter normally resides at his studio, Justin has stored it here for the past few days whilst he's been out and about with his sketchpad. He carefully retrieves the letter and hands it to Brian.

As Brian unfolds it and begins to read it, Justin wonders if Aaron would have wanted this. He almost goes to take the letter back, but it's _Brian_. Who's more trustworthy than Brian?

"It doesn't sound good," Brian says suddenly, rousing Justin from his thoughts. 

"He sounds suicidal, right? Don't you think so?" Justin squirms over to sit next to Brian and stabs at the page. "There. Right there.  _Sometimes when they're yelling at me, I wonder why the fuck I bother sticking around._ And there!  _I don't see a point to it anymore."_

Brian nods and turns the page, then sighs and nods again. "Yeah, I see what you mean."

 "He might already be gone," Justin mutters bitterly. Immediately, nasty thoughts begin to crowd him: _He might have sent you that letter and then done it. He could have been gone all this time._ Then an even nastier thought squirms into his mind: _He_ _could be attempting right now, while you're sitting here doing **nothing.**_

Before the guilt can consume him whole, Brian puts a stop to his sinister train of thought by musing softly, "You know, there was a time when these were things that I could have written." 

Justin freezes. At first, he's struck with horror. He's suddenly reminded of the suicidal tendencies that used to plague Brian; the reminder crashes into him full-force and sends him reeling. Then, there's a strange spark of something - it almost seems like a perverse dash of excitement. Maybe that's because it feels like Brian is opening up and inviting Justin in. Into what, Justin isn't entirely sure. He looks at Brian and Brian looks right back, with vulnerability flickering in his gaze. There's something peculiar about it; it's not like any vulnerability Justin has ever seen from Brian. Then he realises: there's a youthfulness to it. This vulnerability is childlike and raw, like a wound that's just been inflicted. Justin can almost feel that wound scraping across his own flesh. He doesn't just hear Brian's confession - he sees it, plain as day, and feels it, viscerally so. _  
_

He can't bear the thought of Brian wanting to take his own life. Not then, not ever. Justin lays his hand atop Brian's wrist and feels the warmth of his flesh and the beat of his pulse. He manages to wrench the words from himself; they come out all strangled as he asks, "And now?"

The vulnerability fades from Brian's face and is slowly replaced by an assured smile. He eyes Justin meaningfully and vows, "Not a chance in hell."

"I'm glad," Justin says, although that doesn't even begin to cover it. His entire being caves inwards with relief. After expelling a shaky sigh, Justin lowers himself down to lie next to Brian. He places his hand over Brian's heart and feels the thump-thump-thump against his palm. With each thump, the words repeat:  _not a chance in hell, not a chance in hell, not a chance in hell._ Justin closes his eyes for a moment and soaks up the joy that the words induce.

"You should be proud, too," Brian murmurs, settling his hand atop Justin's. 

Justin opens his eyes and stares at his husband. "Proud?"

"It has a lot to do with you." Brian's gaze drops downwards to their hands. "Sometimes I don't think you realise the extent of the impact you have on people."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Brian pauses, smiles slightly, then continues, "You've made my life so much happier. And it's not just me, it's everyone. Gus looks at you like you hung the... well, not the moon-"

"He looks at you like you hung the moon," Justin corrects, grinning at Brian.

Brian tilts his head and grins back. "Then he looks at you like you're the sun. Everyone we know, they fucking love you so much. You've made all of our lives better."

"Shut up," Justin murmurs, feeling a blush sweep up his face.

"Sorry, not going to happen," Brian retorts, smirking. "And this kid... this 'Aaron'. Fucking hell, Sunshine."

"What?"

Brian turns on his side and props himself on one elbow. Regarding Justin with intensity, he says, "You're looking at this all wrong. You've been beating yourself up because you can't save this kid from his family, or maybe from himself. I mean, I get the impulse, but you're not being fair on yourself. Firstly, there's no way you're going to find this kid. I mean, how fucking big is Montana? And you have what to go on, exactly? A name that may well be fake? His age? He could have bullshitted that, too. And why? Because his parents are abusive shitstains. Because if they find out that he wrote to you, everything unravels. You'd end up outing him. That's not what he wants, and I know you don't want it either."

He pauses, maybe giving Justin some time to absorb what's being said. As it starts to sink in, Brian rests his hand on Justin's hip and strokes lightly, whilst continuing, "Here's the thing. The kid never wrote to you expecting to be saved. That was never what that letter was about. All it was, was that he saw your paintings and they meant something to him. You felt like someone he could trust, so he reached out and placed his trust in you. Not to save him - only to understand him. That's all he ever needed from you."

As Justin processes this, Brian swoops down and peppers light kisses along his jawline. After dropping one last one to Justin's cheek, Brian says, "What really amazes me is that you didn't leave it at that. Anyone else might have treated it as just another piece of fanmail. You didn't. You took that kid's letter and turned it into something. I mean, you'd already given him something incredible - look at what he says here.  _I looked at those paintings of all those people like us, and it was like I belonged for once in my life._ That was already more than enough for this kid, I bet. But you kept on giving. You've given this kid more than anyone else ever has, you know that?"

Justin nods, but then something occurs to him and he muses dejectedly, "Isn't that kind of sad, though?"

"Actually..." Brian looks at the letter again, then sighs. "I think it's pretty fucking incredible. I think  _you_ are pretty fucking incredible. This kid... 'Aaron', or whoever he is... I don't know where he is or what's happened to him. I can't tell you that. You may never find out, Sunshine. But that's besides the point, if you ask me. You already saved this kid once. That's why he wrote you in the first place. The fact that you're still trying to help him... that's really something."

The way that Brian is looking at him now sparks a huge smile that stretches right across Justin's face. He reaches up to cup Brian's face in his hand and whispers, "I love you."

Brian's responding grin is dizzying. Justin grabs the letter and tucks it underneath his pillow, then pulls Brian in for a kiss. It's soft and slow at first, but soon enough their mouths are fused together demandingly, and Brian is on top of him, and Justin is overcome with need. He sifts through the sheets for the lube and condoms, which he's sure must still be there since they both fell asleep immediately after they finished fucking last night. As soon as he finds them, Justin slicks his fingers with lube and reaches down, snaking his hand between them. This grabs Brian's attention - he pulls away from the kiss and watches, transfixed, as Justin pushes two fingers inside himself and thrusts them in and out, in and out. The growl that Brian releases as Justin adds a third finger is utterly thrilling. He can't wait much longer - as he hands Brian the condom, he moans, "I need you. Get inside me."

Brian swoops in and brings their lips together again. Justin is enthralled by the touch of their lips and the slide of Brian's tongue over his. He's so caught up in the thrill of the kiss that he barely notices anything else; that is, until Brian enters him. It's one smooth stroke, and then Justin is filled with Brian's thick cock. He breaks away from the kiss and groans loudly. Brian takes the opportunity to attack Justin's neck with maddening kisses. Wanting him closer, Justin winds his arms and legs around Brian, locking their bodies together in a most intimate embrace.

As they make love, the world reduces to just the two of them. The only thing keeping Justin tethered to anything beyond the two of them is the mattress pressed against his back, and the sheets sliding against his skin. Everything else has vanished into nothingness. It’s just him and Brian. Brian, the person that Justin is closest to. Brian, who makes him feel more loved than Justin could have ever hoped to feel. Brian, his everything: friend, lover, partner, family, husband. Justin imagines taking this moment, preserving it, then resurrecting it atop canvas tomorrow. He envisages a series of paintings that reveal what it's like to be loved by Brian. How safe it feels, how sure. How there's an entire world that exists within the two of them now. How moments like this can steal them away from the surrounding city and shrink everything down, until everything feels like it was only ever made for the two of them. How it's paradoxically imperfect and perfect - on the one hand, Justin knows that perfection is an illusion, but on the other... what they have _is_ a sort of perfection. It's about as perfect as perfect can be. Isn't it?

_It is,_ Justin thinks, as Brian pulls back a little, his thrusts accelerating, his eyes closed, his mouth opening to spill out the words, "I love you, too."

As they come together, Justin cries out in pure ecstasy. A haze of pleasure descends, ensconcing him, whisking him away into a spell of nothingness. When he eventually emerges, it's to Brian resting on top of him, nuzzling in close, as the breeze from outside breathes over their entwined selves. Justin turns his head and stares out into the night, but he doesn't think about the city that lies beyond their windowsill. All he can think of is Brian in his arms, in their bed, in their home, and how wonderful it is to feel this loved.


	5. Lou

**_I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've never not been lonely, and like I said, I've never been close to anyone. Not a single person. The only insight I've ever had is from your paintings. It makes me feel like there are people out there waiting for me - my people, you know? Well, of course you do. That's what I get from looking at your paintings - that you know._ **

"I'd better get back to the office," Brian says, scowling at his watch. After downing the last of his wine, he reaches across the table and touches Justin's hand. "Thanks for lunch. See you later tonight?"

"Sure," Justin agrees, offering up his most winning smile. "Wanna go dancing?"

"With you? Always." Brian grins and leans in for a quick kiss. Justin grabs his tie, reels him in a little closer, then kisses him twice. With a soft, contented hum, Brian bumps their noses together, then stands up and grabs his coat. "In the meantime, behave yourself, will you?"

"I'll try," Justin laughs. "Good luck with your meeting."

"Thanks, Sunshine." Brian looks at him curiously for a moment, as though he's assessing something. But before Justin can query it, Brian seems to shrug it off. He smiles and says as he turns to leave, "Wear those jeans I bought you."

"You and those goddamned jeans," Justin mutters, laughing as Brian flips him off without even turning around. Truthfully, the jeans in question are gorgeous. They're fit to perfection (as they ought to be, considering how insanely expensive they were) and always garner very favourable reactions. Justin does feel ever so slightly ridiculous walking around in obscenely pricey Versace jeans, but Brian cares not - all Brian cares about is seeing the jeans on, showing Justin off, then taking Justin home to fuck him silly.

Okay, so the jeans were definitely worth the ludicrous cost. But he's not going to admit that to Brian just yet.

After the waiter brings him another glass of wine, Justin pulls his sketchpad and pencils out of his satchel and gets to work. Ruby's twelfth birthday is coming up and Gus has commissioned some artwork to accompany the story that he's been writing for her. Justin laughs as he recalls Gus' phone call, where the poor kid desperately offered up a whole slew of rewards: _I can't pay what other people pay you - I mean, it's kind of ridiculous, Jus - but I'll send you my pocket money, or I'll work for you next summer, or I'll be nothing but nice to J.R. for an entire month._

Justin knocked back the first two offers but asked that Gus give the third one a good try, if only for Mel and Linds' sakes (the sibling rivalry has been driving them up the wall lately). Upon securing Gus' assurance that he'd give it a shot, Justin promised him, _You never have to pay me, Gussy. You want to commission something? I'm all yours, free of charge._ After all, Justin would do anything for Gus.

Plus, Gus' storytelling is always fascinating. He's been on a real fantasy kick lately, and this story is no exception. Justin finished reading it yesterday and found Gus' imagination to be contagious. He's now brimming with ideas for the accompanying illustrations. It's refreshing to work on something different for a change; it's not often he gets to draw dragons in labyrinthine lairs or strange elven creatures. As he gets to work on the first illustration, he quickly decides it's not just refreshing - it's fucking fantastic.

"Excuse me? Mr. Taylor?"

Justin's pencil freezes on the page. At first, he glances up in a blind panic, expecting to see his father somewhere in the restaurant (although, what Craig Taylor would be doing in a Chelsea hotspot of all places is beyond him). Instead he finds a girl standing in front of him and staring at him expectantly, at which point he realises with a sinking feeling that  _he's_ Mr. Taylor.

Well, shit. Brian has been promising him for years that he'll "soon know what it's like to be an elderly person", and now that moment has officially arrived. _Mr. Taylor._ Ugh.

As Justin silently curses his advancing years, the girl shifts uneasily and asks softly, "You're Justin Taylor, right?"

"I am," he says, smiling at her. "Except call me Justin. Mr. Taylor is my father."

"Right," the girl laughs, blushing a little. "Sorry."

Justin shakes his head and reassures her, "Don't be."

She smiles at him hesitantly. "Okay. Um, it's really nice to meet you, Justin."

As Justin reaches out to shake her hand, he considers how surprising her quiet tone is. Everything else about the girl is loud and bold. Her hair is ruby red and cut jaggedly, revealing earlobes with at least a dozen piercing holes. There is no corresponding jewellry, which makes sense - she's in a prim private school uniform. It's a wonder she's been allowed to keep the red hair; Justin knew kids at St. James who were suspended until they complied with the school's rigid aesthetic standards. He remembers one of Daph's friends being reduced to tears by a teacher because she wore too much makeup to class. _Fucking private schools,_ Justin thinks to himself, whilst hoping against hope that Gus and Ruby aren't getting the same absurdly strict treatment at their school.

"Justin," the girl says again, like she's trying it out. "Um, I can't believe I'm calling you that. I can't believe I'm meeting you! I'm a huge fan of your work. I have been for, like, six years."

"Six years?" Justin peers at her worriedly. She can't possibly be more than sixteen. He isn't sure how he feels about a ten-year-old looking at his work - sure, all the kids in the family have seen bits and pieces, but that's heavily regimented. Gus has probably seen the most by far, but if Justin had to guess, he'd estimate that Gus has still only seen about a tenth of it.

"Yeah, about that..." The girl blushes again. "My mom is, like, really into you. She bought a painting from you in... 2005, I think. That's when I first started liking your work."

"2005? Which one was it?" Before she can answer, Justin kicks out the chair across from him and nods at it. "Do you wanna sit down?"

The girl's eyes bulge out of her head. She nods rapidly, dumps her schoolbag on the floor, and leaps into the seat. Her hastiness is adorable; Justin grins at her and pours her a glass of water from the pitcher. "So which painting was it?"

"I forget the title, but it was lovers kissing. Like, this really gorgeous close-up of their mouths." The girl giggles and adds secretively, "I had to point out to mom that they were both women. She didn't realise."

Justin bursts out laughing. "And she didn't get rid of it? Incinerate it? Dump the ashes and then salt the earth?"

She bursts out laughing. It reminds Justin of Daph's laugh - it's all bright and warm. As she continues giggling, the girl rolls her eyes and enthuses, "Hell no. Mom is  _so_ majorly into token homo-eroticism. She thinks it's so fucking edgy and trendy. Plus, you were the hottest new thing in New York back then - she _had_ to have something of yours."

She blushes again and looks like she's about to apologise. Justin smiles at her reassuringly and laughs, "I know the type. I think they make up a significant quota of my sales every year. Anyway, I'm glad you liked it."

The girl beams at him. "She's bought more of yours, too. Once she figured out how much I liked your work she couldn't get enough. Owning hot, trendy pieces from hot, trendy artists is one thing, but getting to be the cool mom on top of that? She couldn't resist."

"Which other pieces do you guys have?"

She purses her lips and thinks for a moment. "Well..."

Justin is awestruck as the girl reels off a  _very_ long list of paintings. He remembers each and every one of them - most of them are ones that Justin considers his personal best. When she finally finishes, Justin's jaw is almost on the floor and his ego is about to crash through the ceiling. Staggered, he remarks, "I think you and your mom may have financed the trip my partner and I took to Italy."

She looks quite pleased, then queries, "Husband, right? I read that you got married."

Justin laughs - he still has to be reminded sometimes. "Yeah, he's my husband now. We've been married for almost a year."

"Congrats. What's that like?"

"Great. Amazing. Don't even get me started - I could go on for months about how fantastic he is. Years, even." As they grin at each other, something occurs to Justin. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Ugh," the girl groans. "My mother - the cruel sadist that she is - named me Tallulah. Tallulah Pandora Grace, can you believe it? I kind of like the Pandora, if only because I wouldn't mind unleashing hell on everyone."

Laughing, Justin notes, "Honestly, I don't look at you and see a Tallulah."

She grins at him as though that's the greatest thing she's ever heard. "I go by Lou these days."

"Much better."

Lou glances at his sketchpad and asks, clearly intrigued, "What are you working on?"

"It's for my son," Justin explains. He passes it over to Lou and talks her through Gus' story and the illustrations he's dreamt up.

"This is amazing," she breathes, her eyes going wide. "I've never seen anything like it in your shows."

Justin nods and takes a sip of his wine. "It's definitely new territory. I just hope it's what he's looking for."

"How could they not be? They're perfect." Lou blushes and hands the sketchpad back. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of obsessed with your work. Not in a creepy way, I swear... it's just really, really cool."

Justin smiles at her, which seems to bring her further out of her shell. Lou returns the smile and says glowingly, "I went to see your latest show last week. It was amazing."

"You liked it?" Justin grins, feeling a rush of relief. The reviews from critics have been stellar so far and everyone he knows has loved the collection, too. But he hasn't heard anything from Aaron, which has left Justin feeling a vague lack of fulfillment on the best of days, and harrowing worry on the worst.

"I loved it," Lou enthuses. She folds her hands together atop the tablecloth and leans in a little. With an air of secrecy, she lowers her voice and says, "Um, I guess it's... how do I put this...? I'm not so good at connecting with people. They kind of..."

"Suck?" Justin provides, laughing.

Snickering, Lou nods heartily. "Yeah. My family is just... ick. And everyone I go to school with is even worse. I have some long distance friends, but mostly I'm crap at the whole 'people-person' kinda thing. Anyways, um, I always like seeing your work. Your portraits, especially."

She trails off for a moment and stares at her hands. Eventually, she continues, "Everything is kind of loneliness stacked on top of loneliness. My family is lonely, my school is even lonelier, and New York... well, that can be kind of lonely too, you know?"

"I know," Justin says, smiling sympathetically at her. There are days when the city feels like a companion, and then there are days when it's utterly isolating. Justin has never forgotten the months he spent here without Brian, where the city vaulted from one end of the spectrum to the other constantly. Ever since this latest show opened, Justin has been waiting to see if Aaron will resurface, but the boy remains lost. And as a result, even with Brian here, even with the family coming to visit, even with the art world falling in love with him all over again... there are still days where the city feels baron.

"Of course you do," Lou says, laughing a little, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. Justin is momentarily reminded of Aaron's letter - what was it that he wrote? Right. _That's what I get from looking at your paintings - that you know._ As he tries to stop himself from wondering about Aaron, Lou ducks her head and smiles at her hands. As her red hair falls across her face, she muses, "I don't feel quite so lonely when I'm looking at your work. Maybe I sound like a crazy person, but your portraits... they kind of feel like family and friends when I'm looking at them. Like a foster family, I guess? I don't know."

It all sounds so familiar. Hoping to appear as grateful as he feels, Justin offers her a smile, but it must fall flat. As Lou looks at him, concern sparks in her gaze. And then, strangely, it's almost as though she's read his mind and knows what it is that's bothering him. With a pleading expression, she hastens to say, "I swear, I'm not regurgitating what that boy said to you. I read about how the collection was developed as a tribute to him and about what he said to you... I _swear_ I'm not just jumping on the bandwagon. I really mean it."

"I know," Justin says, nodding reassuringly at her. "Thank you. It means a lot."

"Did you ever hear from him again?"

Though he tries to stop it, Justin can feel his face fall. Quietly, he admits, "No."

Lou exhales softly. "What do you think happened to him?"

Justin looks at her for a while. She's young - maybe too young? But there's something about this girl - something that suggests that she's older and wiser at heart, and possibly stronger than she appears. Still, though - Justin doesn't want to risk upsetting her. Gently, he asks, "Honestly?"

"Honestly," she confirms with confidence, shooting him a sharp look that says: _It's okay, I've got this._

"Honestly..." Justin takes a moment to draw in a breath. As he breathes out slowly, trying to steady himself, he stares at his sketchpad. The illustration laid out before him reminds him of Gus, and thinking of Gus _always_ gives him strength. Justin clings to it as he confesses, "Honestly, I feel like something happened to him. Maybe school got even worse for him. Maybe his parents became even more controlling. I... I don't know. I've imagined every last scenario, and the thing is..."

He glances at Lou and she nods at him. Justin swallows and continues, "The thing is, I have this gut feeling. I've had it for a while now. I think he's gone. One way or another, I don't think he's... you know."

He shies away from saying it outright. It's hard enough thinking it, and even worse having this knowing, gnawing feeling in his gut. Justin doesn't want to actually speak the words. Anyway, Lou knows.

"It must have been hard for him," she says quietly, "Being closeted. Being alone."

As a pang of sympathy hits him, Justin murmurs, "Yeah."

Lou is silent for a while, then she says, "Can I tell you something? I mean, I don't want to burden you-"

"You're not burdening me," Justin interjects quickly. "Not at all."

This is met with a big smile that's laced with relief. Leaning in a little, Lou confides, "I'm semi-closeted. My mom knows that I'm queer, but my dad and my sisters don't. My online friends do, but they're... well, do they count? I dunno. And people at school - ugh - well, they assume, because they're fucking assholes... but they assume I'm a dyke, so they're assuming wrong."

She suddenly slaps her hand over her mouth and mumbles through it, "Sorry. Um, that was kind of-"

"Don't worry," Justin laughs. "Doesn't bother me. Really, it's incredibly hard to offend me."

Lou drops her hand away and gives him a small smile. "I'm bi. I've always known it, but it's only been this past year that I've begun wanting other people to know. I'm sick of hiding it. So I thought I'd try coming out. I decided to start with my mom."

She spits out the word 'mom' like it's toxic, then scrunches her mouth up as though the word has left a lingering bitterness. Justin knows that feeling - it's exactly how he feels every time he's forced to say the words 'my father' or 'Craig Taylor'. He also thinks he might know the answer to his next question, but best to hear it from Lou.

"And how did your mom take it?"

"Not well," Lou seethes, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "It's like... it's ever so chic for her to have paintings of queer people in varying states of undress all throughout our apartment, but having a queer daughter? No fucking way. She said that it would be 'easier' if I was straight."

Snorting, Justin challenges, "Easier for who?"

"Exactly," Lou mutters glumly, staring daggers at the tablecloth. "She already has two perfect hetero daughters, but apparently she needs me to make a complete set. Collect 'em all, you know? Fucking bitch."

Justin hums sympathetically. "My dad would have preferred for me to be straight. He had my whole life mapped out for me, like this very pristine game of hopscotch. Like: private school, to Dartmouth, to some high-ranking position in the corporate world, to a wife and kids in some gated community... ugh, it sounds like a nightmare to me."

"I can't even imagine," Lou says with a tiny little laugh. "That would be so wrong for you."

"So wrong," Justin agrees, grinning. He's pleased to see it spark a smile on Lou's face. "You know, one of the best things my partner ever taught me was to recognise that for what it is. The way my father treated me, the way your mother is treating you... that's not love, that's hate. If they can't accept us for who we are, then fuck them."

"Fuck them," Lou echoes, her smile growing. "I like that."

Suddenly, Justin's phone begins to vibrate. He digs it out of his pocket and finds a text from Brian: _I'm off work early. Let's do dinner? I'll pick you up at seven. You'd better be wearing those jeans._ Justin apologises to Lou and quickly texts back: _I'll wear them - calm yourself, will you? See you at 7 x_

"Do you have the time?" Lou asks, tapping her watch. "This thing has stopped again. Mommy dearest only buys nice watches for her nice, straight daughters."

"Yick," Justin gags. "Sorry. And - hey, trust me - I know the type. Um, it's 4.30."

"Shit, I gotta go." Lou jumps up and grabs her bag. Blushing again, she says, "I'm sorry to run off. Uh, actually, I'm sorrier to have bugged you for so long."

"You weren't bugging me. It was really nice to meet you. And hey-" Justin flicks to the next page of his sketchpad and scrawls down his email, then tears the page out and hands it to Lou. "If you ever need someone to talk to... I've been through all that stuff and I know how awful it can be."

Lou grabs the page and stares at it in utter awe. "Really?"

"Sure." Justin smiles at her. "I know I probably seem ancient or whatever-"

"No way," she laughs. "You're only in your thirties, right?"

Justin stares at her, stricken, and protests, "I'm not even twenty-nine!"

"Shit," Lou mumbles, blushing. "Sorry."

"It's fine, never mind. My husband is going to find this absolutely fucking hilarious." Justin smiles at her and urges, "Keep in touch, okay?"

She beams at him and nods rapidly. "Yeah, I will. Thank you. Really, Justin... thank you."

He watches her dart out of the restaurant and bound up 7th Ave. For the first time in weeks, the city feels much less baron. With a smile stuck on his face, Justin signals for the cheque and gets ready to leave.

As he exits the restaurant, Justin pulls Aaron's letter out of his shirt pocket and reads it. _Once more,_ he promises himself. He's made that promise before and broken it, but he has a feeling it'll stick this time around. Tomorrow, he'll take the letter to his studio and return it to its safe spot in the storeroom. Then he'll try to move on from this. For now, he reads through the five and half pages that Aaron wrote out just for him. He relives every last confession. He reminds himself that Aaron never expected to be saved; that he simply wanted to be understood.

Justin still isn't sure whether he understands. It's all right there in Aaron's letter, but it's one thing to read about it and another thing entirely to live it. That's something that will have to remain uncertain for now. It's one of many uncertainties that Justin is left with. Worst of all is that he can't be sure whether Aaron is alive or not. His gut tells him no, but he wants badly to believe that there's a chance. Maybe Aaron is still out there somewhere: living, breathing, moving forward, forging ahead despite the suffering. Maybe he'll find out about the show. Maybe he'll see the paintings and know that they're for him. And maybe - _god,_ Justin hopes, _just maybe_ \- Aaron will feel a little closer to knowing that there his people are out there, somewhere, waiting for him. 

**The End**


End file.
